Model Guy (41 page)

 
She laughs. "God,
I miss them. They're so mad. They have to do everything in one take and they never
even have time to rehearse I don't think." There is a pause. I know she's going
to say it: "Will you stay at mine again tonight?"

 
"Let's have a drink,
shall we?" I know I'm not answering the question.

 
"Sure, okay."

 
I suggest somewhere in
town, mid way between hers and my Dad's.

 
I get to the bar at seven,
glad to leave the flat, I mean penthouse, and relieved to be going out before my
Dad comes back in a way. I haven't really spent much time with him since I was a
kid and the new him, although it's quite a few years old now, still takes some getting
used to. Nora doesn't get there till nearly half past. I roll my eyes and look at
my watch. Pushing her way through the crowd, she makes a face and mouths the word
'Sorry' at me.

 
As she nears me, she transfers
her bag one from hand to the other and, in the process, manages to swing it like
a croquet mallet, sending a bowl of pistachio nuts flying off a low table. I can
just hear her tell the girl who was about to take a handful of them before they
shot off: "They're actually really fattening, full of calories."

 
When she gets to me says:
"She'll thank me next time she gets on the scales."

 
We kiss lightly on the
lips.

 
"You took your time,"
I tell her. "If I'd waited here any longer they'd have turned me in to a Starbucks.'

 
"Ha, ha," she
says sarcastically. "I've love a drink, thank you. Large G&T."

 
"Good day?"
I ask, looking round to the barman.

 
"Oh, fuck,"
she says making a face.

 
I laugh.

 
"Do you ever have
a good day?"

 
"Sometimes but, oh,
today, I'm in so much trouble. Did you see my piece in the paper?"

 
"Erm, sorry, I didn't
buy it."

 
"Don't worry. Anyway,
I had an interview in it with this little old lady who'd hitched, can you believe
it? Hitched all the way over to Tangiers to see the grave of her war hero husband
because she couldn't afford to get there any other way."

 
"Amazing."

 
"Oh, she is, I was
so impressed. Does charity work and everything, really lovely woman. But unfortunately
in the piece there's a spelling mistake in the third par. Oh God, third par -"

 
"Par?"

 
"Paragraph. Right
at the top of the piece. The subs should have picked it up but they didn't. Damn
them! Anyway, I describe her living room and then it's supposed to say that she
offers me tea and then gets up to water her plants but I left the 'l' out of plants.
Think about it."

 
"Water her pants?"

 
"Yes. She was wanders
around her tiny, immaculate living room watering her pants. What was she? Incontinent?"

 
Just then barman puts
down her drink in front of her.

 
"Oh, God, do I ever
need this."

 
We don't spend long in
the bar as it’s too noisy. We go to a pizza restaurant round the corner where she
orders a bottle of Chianti before we've even sat down.

 
"You like your booze
don't you?" I say.

 
"No, I don't,"
she says defensively. "I mean I do, but not excessively."

 
"Sorry, just saying."

 
"Besides all journalists
drink quite a bit - or nothing at all if you know what I mean. I suppose models
have to watch it, you know, keep your skin clear and your weight down." She
purses her lips and sucks in her cheeks absurdly.

 
"Ha, ha. I don't
think I'll ever be a model again though."

 
"Really? Why not?"

 
"I've left messages
at all the main agencies, well, the ones I'd work for anyway and none of them has
rung me back."

 
"Why not, with your
reputation, your portfolio, they'd have you like a shot."

 
"My reputation's
the problem, I think. They don't like all the stuff that's been in the papers about
me."

 
"And that's my fault?"

 
"Well, some of it,
yeah," I laugh bitterly.

 
She begins to consult
the menu. Around us groups girls are meeting over white wine and garlic bread for
gossipy, giggly evenings. I catch a couple of them looking at me. I give them a
convincingly cool smile. 2cool? They giggle to each other and look away.

 
"Do you want me to
say sorry again?" she says from behind the menu

 
I sigh.

 
"No. What different
would it make anyway? I just fancy having a moan. Thing is I don't know what the
hell I'm going to do." She looks sympathetically at me. "Oh, don'tworry
there's nothing you can do. I'll find something. I thought I might go back to college
and refresh my marketing skills."

 
The waiter comes over
and we order.

 
"I spoke to Piers
this afternoon," she says.

 
"Really? What did
he say?"

 
"He's had to move."

 
"Why? Did someone
discover where he is?"

 
"Not exactly."
She stifles a giggle. "It's not funny actually."

 
"What happened?"
"He burnt the house down."

 
"What?"

 
"You know that little
calor gas stove he had? Well, it must have caught on something and the whole house
went up in smoke."

 
"You're kidding.
Is he all right?"

 
"Funnily enough,
he got out unscathed."

 
"Typical Piers."

 
"I saw a report about
the fire on the local news this evening. Now he's found a deserted warehouse that
a club promoter he knows was using for illegal raves."

 
"Well, that news
has cheered me up a bit," I tell her, refilling her glass.

 
After our food arrives
I ask her about their common grandparents.

 
"Piers' mum is my
Dad's sister, that's all," she says dismissively. "There were six brothers
and sisters altogether. One died in a car crash ten years ago. Piers' mum, my aunt
Lucille, lives in South Carolina now with her second husband, Piers' step father."

 
"So, Piers is half
American?"

 
"Yeah, 50 per cent
yank though he always plays the Hugh Grant role whenever he goes there."

 
"Very shrewd."

 
"Oh, yes, he knows
how to charm the right people, what to say to take them in. But then you know that,
don't you?"

 
By the end of dinner the
issue of whether I'm going to go back to hers is hanging in the air between us.
Our conversation is getting sort of vague and disjointed with short, half finished
sentences as a result. Of course, I could easily go and stay with her now that I'm
not living with Lauren but somehow that fact makes it worse. It would be like a
double betrayal. Even if she is cuddling up with Peter tonight I can't go back with
Nora. I do actually enjoy talking to Nora, she makes me laugh, she's so different
from anyone I've ever met before, we never seem to run out of things to say, she's
so sharp it's scary, she's got that dangerous unknown quality about her, I feel
like I'm playing with fire just having dinner with her, let alone having sex with
her. But I just can't go and sleep with her again, even though Lauren wouldn't know
about it this time, of course, I just can't do it.

 
"Shall we get the
bill?" I say, bringing things to a head.

 
"Yes, of course."
She looks round very energetically for a waiter while I watch her. Sometimes she's
so in control, so cool, like when we first met and had lunch and then, sometimes,
she's like an insecure teenager. I wonder how many boyfriends she has had. I wonder
if the Wall Street broker with the parental home in the Hamptons was the only one.
I wonder if he really exists at all.

 
She insists on putting
it on expenses. It's only twenty five quid a head so I let her. Besides, I'll have
to start saving my money now. We step outside and I realise that getting back to
my Dad's is going to be a hell of a schlep. Notting Hill is just fifteen minutes
away. But still I can't do it.

 
"I'd better be getting
back," I say, touching her cheek.

 
"You don't want to
come back to mine?" she says looking down at the ground, kicking an old crisp
packet gently.

 
"I, er, I can't.
Sorry."

 
"Not even for a quick
fuck?" she says. I see a muscle in her jaw jump angrily.

 
"Nora, don't say
that."

 
"Why the hell not?
That's all it is."

 
"It is not. Look,
I really like you, Nora, but -"

 
"But just not that
much."

 
"Just let me finish,
will you?" Suddenly the street seems very crowded, very public. "I've
been going out with Lauren for six years; it's a big chunk of my life."

 
"But you're not with
her now."

 
"Well, I'm not living
with her but -"

 
"But when you feel
like doing it with someone else again, you'll let me know."

 
"Nora, don't say
that."

 
"Well, why did you
do it with me then?"

 
I can't think of how to
put it so we stand in silence as people push past us.

 
"Nora, I was angry
and confused, you were kind, you were there. I really appreciate that."

 
"And I was a useful
way of getting back at your girlfriend when she was pissing you off, is that it?"

 
"No, no." I
touch her cheek again but she looks away angrily.

 
"Nora, I really like
you. I don't want to hurt you and I promise I wasn't just using you, but I'm in
a relationship, or perhaps I'm not anymore perhaps I'm just getting over one, I
don't know. Either way, I just need some space at the moment. I don't want to mess
you around." She takes a deep breath and looks around her.

 
"Sure," she
says in a whisper.

 
"The point is if
I did come back now and we had sex, it would just be a quick fuck. And I really
don't want that either."

 
"OK." She looks
up at me says the worst thing she can say: "I love you."

 
I smile as kindly as I
can. Oh, Nora, I'm so sorry. I kiss her on the lips.

 
"Let's find you a
taxi then."

 
What I didn't say because
it seemed too cruel to say it at that moment is that I still don't trust her and
I'm not sure that I ever will.

 
Finding a cab for Nora
is no problem but it takes three attempts to find one who's willing to go anywhere
near my dad's. The first two obviously think they're going to fall off the end of
the earth.

 
"What the 'ell do
you wanna live there for?" asks the driver as we shoot out along the Commercial
Road, the metre clicking up the fare rhythmically.

 
"I don't," I
yell at him from the back seat. "My dad does."

 
"Oh, right."
As we drive on I notice him look at me again in his mirror and then say: "I
thought I knew your face, you're that guy from that website, arncha?"

 
I think about it for a
moment.

 
"No, that's not me.
That's my brother."

 
"Really, you don't
half look alike. Bet he's keeping a low profile somewhere is he? He must feel a
real prick."

 
"Yeah, I think he
does."

 
"Unless, you know,
no offence intended, he's in on the whole thing. Waiting to get his share and then
scarper, know what I mean?"

 
"I don't think he
is; I think he's just a helpless pawn in a bigger game."

 
"Oh, right, sure,
well, you'd know." He drives on a bit more with me willing him to shut up.
"But what about all these big names they must be livid. They'll be suing the
arse off him, won't they?"

 
I think of Josh Langdon's
little bit of back tracking on the news report and Piers' odd laughter when I mentioned
legal action to him.

 
"I don't know,"
I say and then I introduce the subject of traffic congestion around the Blackwall
tunnel and that keeps him busy until well beyond Limehouse.

When I get back at just after eleven my Dad and Thingy are curled
up together watching the climax of a Tom Cruise action movie at deafening volume.

 
"Hi, kiddo"
says my dad sleepily. Thingy remains glued to the set eating Jaffa cakes.

The next morning my Dad is tearing around the flat because he
has over slept. His driver is waiting awkwardly by the door to the apartment, shuffling
from foot to foot. I nod hello to him and then sit quietly out of the way until
the Armani clad whirlwind has left in a cloud of expensive aftershave, still cursing
and swearing. I have a swim and use the gym down there. I get back up to the apartment
at eleven and Thingy is putting away the groceries that have been delivered from
Harvey Nix. She smiles and offers me a biscuit. I smile back, shake my head and
point to the cereal which is in the box she's currently unpacking. She laughs, pushes
away the box with the cereal packet in it and opens the biscuits anyway, shaking
the packet around in front of me temptingly.